


the way you kiss me (will work each time)

by breezered



Series: there she goes (a little heartache) [4]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, post Before the Storm, the wlw hang out, they don't even fall apart here, things fall apart slowly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 14:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13343250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezered/pseuds/breezered
Summary: “I missed you,” you say, soft and quiet, and Rachel’s face softens for a second before she tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.“You saw me yesterday,” she teases, and you pull her closer, your nose bumping hers.“Yeah, well,” you feel your cheeks heat up, “still missed you.”





	the way you kiss me (will work each time)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Georgia' by Vance Joy

“Fuck!” You kick the front tire of your truck and slam your fists against the door. “Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit fucking rusty-ass, garbage fucking excuse for a goddamn truck!” You kick the tire again for good measure and then take a step back, extending your middle fingers out to the truck. 

“Jesus, Price, calm your shit,” Steph says from where she’s sitting in the bed of the truck.

You huff and hop in beside her, grabbing a smoke from your breast pocket and lighting it. Steph frowns at you, and you roll your eyes at her somehow maternal disapproval of your bad habits. 

“Rachel’s going to fucking _kill_ me,” you groan, lying back on the rusty metal. 

“It’s not like you blew your transmission on purpose,” Steph reminds you, and you sigh. 

“She’s still going to be pissed off,” you say, “she was looking forward to seeing this movie all week.” She had been - you’d bought the tickets on Monday and she hadn’t shut up about them all week, excited to drive into the next town to their little independent theatre and watch one of the worst movies of all times. 

Steph shrugs. “Shit happens. Your girl is too used to getting what she wants.” 

“Is Steph Gingrich talking shit about Rachel Amber?” You nudge Steph’s leg with your boot. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Laugh it up,” Steph says, “I’m not the one whose ass is going to get kicked.” 

You groan again and wriggle around until you’ve got your phone out of your back pocket. Rachel is number one on your speed dial, and you press the phone to your ear, waiting out the rings. 

“ _Hello?_ ” 

“Hey Rach, it’s me,” you say, and Steph hops out of the truck bed to give you privacy. “Look, my transmission blew on my way to pick you up. I’m really sorry, I don’t think we can make it to the movie tonight.” 

“ _What_?” 

“The movie, Rachel, we were going to go see _The Room_?” You remind her, frowning when you hear the rustle of something in the background. 

“ _Oh shit, right,_ ” she says. “ _I totally forgot. Listen, how about I just take my dad’s car and I’ll come pick you up? We can get the truck in the morning._ ” 

“Okay, sure,” you say. “We’re on the coast road, about fifteen minutes past the shop. I’ll keep my headlights on for you.” 

“ _Perfect,_ ” she says, “ _I’ll see you in a bit._ ” She hangs up then, not bothering to say bye, and you furrow your brow. 

“What’s the deal?” Steph leans up on the edge of the truck bed, her chin resting on her arms. 

“Rachel’s gonna come get us,” you say, pocketing your phone again and sitting up. “She forgot about the movie or something anyways, so she wasn’t too pissed.” 

“I thought she was totally hyped to see it?” 

You take a long drag and shrug. “Me too. Whatever, she’s been busy lately with exams and shit.” 

“Sure,” Steph says, and you frown at her. 

“Fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. You glare at Steph until she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, calm down with the death stare. Look, it’s probably nothing, but I thought I saw Rachel and Nathan Prescott behind the dorms the other day.” 

A cold hand grips your heart and you try to swallow, your mouth suddenly bone dry. “What?” You sound small. 

“I was trying to find somewhere quiet to work on the next campaign,” Steph says, “and I was walking ‘round the back of the dorms and I saw them. They weren’t like, doing anything, just talking all close and stuff.” 

“They’re friends,” you say. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“So shut up about it.” 

“Okay.” 

Silence falls over you, the sound of the waves hitting the beach below you pounding like drums in your ears. Steph climbs in the cabin of the truck and turns on the radio. You finish your cigarette and stamp it out in the truck bed, tossing the butt onto the road. You climb in beside Steph and kick your feet up on the dash. 

“They were probably talking about that sketchy Vortex Club shit,” you say, and Steph looks over at you. “I mean, it’s _Nathan_. What other reason does anyone have to talk to him for?” 

“True,” Steph says, pretending to gag. 

You tap your fingers against your leg, toes twitching in your boots. “Fuck, I need to blaze.” You reach across Steph and dig through the glove compartment, grabbing your tin. There are a few joints in there, already rolled and waiting for you. You grab the fattest one, lighting it and take a deep hit. The smoke curls into your lungs, comfortable and familiar. You blow it back out in rings, and Steph rolls her eyes at your obvious attempt to show off. “Fuck yes.”

Steph takes the joint when you offer it to her, taking a small hit and you smirk when she tries not to cough. You don’t like to make fun of people when it comes to smoking, especially not your friends. Or whatever Steph is. 

“How long is she gonna be?” Steph asks, and you shrug. It’s Rachel. She’ll be as early or as late as she wants. You just hope she gets here in time to get to the movie; you payed almost ten bucks a ticket. 

Time passes unevenly as you smoke. Steph turns the radio up and you crack a window occasionally, not letting the truck reach quite the level of hotbox you normally would. Music plays loud and endless. 

It could have been minutes or hours when Rachel knocks on your window and scares the shit out of you. 

“Jesus fuck,” you gasp, opening the door and giving her a stern look. “You trying to kill me, Amber?” Rachel laughs and pushes you over, climbing in beside you and taking a deep breath of the weed-heavy air. She’s wearing the jacket you like, with the studs on the shoulders and the patches on the arms and pockets. 

“Getting high without me, Price?” She counters, and you drape your arm around her shoulders. Her hair is damp and smells freshly washed. A kiss to the side of her neck confirms that she must have just showered, her skin smelling like sandalwood underneath her jasmine perfume. It’s heady and intoxicating to your already high mind, and Rachel laughs and pushes you away when you try to nibble at her earlobe. 

“I missed you,” you say, soft and quiet, and Rachel’s face softens for a second before she tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You saw me yesterday,” she teases, and you pull her closer, your nose bumping hers. 

“Yeah, well,” you feel your cheeks heat up, “still missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Steph pipes up from your other side, and you jump in your seat, having forgotten she was there. 

Rachel laughs and leans around you to wave at Steph. “Hi, Steph. Sorry about this one, she’s got a one-track mind.” 

“I get that,” Steph says, and you reach over to slug her in the shoulder. 

“Stop flirting,” you say, and Steph laughs. Rachel wraps her arms around your shoulders and pulls you in, kissing your jaw. 

“We get it, you’re a big, bad, protective, hardcore punk,” Rachel coos, and you frown. “Come on, stud, let’s get going. I don’t want to miss this movie because you were too busy trying to defend my honour.” She slips out of the truck with a liquid grace, and you follow after her, stumbling when your feet hit solid ground. You’re higher than you thought, the ground unsteady beneath you as you follow Rachel to her dad’s car. 

The leather interior immediately makes you feel inadequate, and your fingers twitch for a smoke. Steph whistles as she climbs into the backseat. 

“Sweet wheels, Amber,” she says, and Rachel starts the car. 

“Thanks,” she says, pulling off the shoulder and heading down the dark road. Rachel drives fast, something you learned when you taught her to drive stick and nearly had a heart attack. She’s not reckless, just…impatient. “Chloe, music?” You nod and fiddle with the fancy radio set up, finally landing on the local rock station. 

“How was your day?” You ask her, staring at her profile under the dim streetlights. 

“Ugh, so boring,” she whines. “I’ve decided I hate peer tutoring. Freshmen are going to be the death of me, they’re so…scared to take risks. How do they ever expect to truly become actors if they don’t step outside of their comfort zone and play the roles that make them want to run and hide?” You hum and agreement and let the sound of Rachel’s voice wash over you, happy to let her rant. Her words fade out but the tone remains, and you stare at her with a dopey smile on your face. She notices after a while, giving you a side-eye and a smirk. “You aren’t even listening.” 

“I am so listening,” you try and defend. 

“You’re not,” she says, “but it’s cute how much you stare at me when you think I won’t notice.” Steph snorts from the backseat and you flip her off. 

“I’m not cute,” you grumble, looking out your window and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“You are,” Rachel insists, “Steph, isn’t she cute?” 

Steph leans up between your seats and pokes your cheek. “The cutest little lesbian I ever saw.” You groan and swat her hand away. 

“I’m too fucking high to deal with you two,” you mumble, and they both laugh. They start talking, their conversation settling around you like a blanket. Your eyes drift closed, the heat from the vent warming your skin and making you drowsy. 

You’re woken up by Rachel’s lips on yours, and your eyes open slowly. She pulls back and opens her own, green eyes staring at you with unrestrained affection. 

“Hey, you,” she says, soft. You smile and lean forward, capturing her lips in another kiss. Her lips taste like beeswax lip chap. 

“Hey,” you answer when you end the kiss. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was so tired.” You reach up and stroke her hair back, hand gently cradling her head. She leans into your touch and sighs. 

“It’s okay,” she assures you, taking your hand in hers and bringing your knuckles to her lips. “Come on. We should get in there.” She leaves a lingering kiss on your lips, the type that always leaves you wanting more, and she gets out of the car. You sigh and follow suit. 

The theatre is an old building, the marquee lit up with black letters. The box office is right below it, and you show your tickets, getting waved inside quickly by a bored looking teenager. Rachel takes your hand inside the lobby, pulling you over to where Steph is waiting by the theatre doors. 

“Do you want any popcorn or a drink?” You ask Rachel, and she shakes her head. Relieved at saving that money tonight, you follow her into the theatre. 

The seats are a mismatch of different types of comfortable seating. The three of you find a couch near the back of the theatre, and Rachel immediately tucks herself under your arm. To her credit, Steph doesn’t seem fazed at all, kicking back on the couch and giving you a wink. 

The movie starts soon after, and you try to pay attention to it, but Rachel’s got her hand on your thigh, tracing patterns into the denim. Her hair tickles the side of your face, and your sense are overwhelmed with everything Rachel Amber. She leans into your and turns her head, her nose tracing a line along your neck and jaw. Her lips press against your pulse for the slightest of seconds, and then she’s back to staring at the screen. 

“Rach,” you whisper, and she looks up at you. “You’re distracting me.” Her only response is to slide her hand higher up your leg, and you clench your jaw shut. You tighten your arm around her and lean your head down to kiss the corner of her mouth. She turns into you immediately, and you know that this was the response she’d been waiting for. Her lips cover yours, full and warm, and you slip your tongue into her mouth. 

It escalates quickly, as it always does with Rachel. She’s a maestro and you’re her instrument, building you up in no time at all, familiar with every twist and turn of your body. It’s masterful, it really is, how she takes a kiss and turns it into a fucking symphony. Her hands are under your shirt already, one pressing against your back and the other with its fingers tucked into the front of your waistband. She sucks on your tongue and then releases it, biting at your bottom lip and tugging it between her lips. 

She tastes like heaven. 

Her legs swing up to rest in your lap, and you shift until you’re almost facing each other. You can feel where her chest presses up against yours like you’re on fire, and you grip her thigh. 

“Fuck,” you breathe between kisses, and Rachel grins. She kisses you and you cling to her like she’s a lifeline. You forget where you are, you forget about poor Steph at the other end of the couch, and you pull Rachel as close as you can. Any second spent not touching her is a waste, your lips moving with hers rhythmically and desperately. 

“Chloe,” Rachel sighs into your mouth, and you feel her try and get impossibly closer. You want to give her anything, everything she needs, so you try and shift your body to get her where she needs to be, but the couch isn’t that big and you almost slip off the edge of the seat. 

“Shit!” You hiss and steady yourself, Rachel snickering into your neck. Steph looks over at you and rolls her eyes. “We should probably stop.” 

Rachel nods, but doesn’t move, just turns her head to look at the giant screen. You hold her close, arms tight around her and unwilling to ever let go. 

-

The next morning you employ the local garage’s services to tow your truck back to the shop. You’ve become such a regular that they give you very acceptable discounts if you make up with labour. It’s not like you’d trust anyone else to fix your truck anyways, so it works out. 

You’re leaning into the open hood of your truck and tightening the transmission fluid cap when someone smacks your ass. 

It’s Rachel, of course, and you wipe your hands on a rag before leaning in to kiss her. 

“Hey,” you say, “what brings you down here?” 

“Just wanted to come and watch you work,” she says, looking into the open hood. “What are you doing?” 

“I just finished repairing the transmission,” you say, and she nods with an impressed whistle. “And so I filled the fluid and it should be good to go.” Rachel grins and grabs you by the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you close until you’re boxing her in against the nose of your truck, greasy hands on either side of her body. 

“You didn’t stay over last night,” she says with a narrowed stare. “Very rude of you.” You remember saying goodnight to her on her front porch, pressing her into the railing and slipping your hand up the front of her shirt. 

“I didn’t want you to have to wake up early on your weekend,” you say, and you duck your head to kiss her. She turns her head away so your lips land on her cheek, and you keep trying to kiss her until you’re both laughing. 

“I’m trying to scold you, asshole,” she laughs. 

“Go ahead,” you say with a grin. 

She stares at you and her eyes narrow in that way they do when she’s thinking, or coming up with some plan. “Later,” she decides, “right now you just look too hot, all greasy and sweaty.” She tangles her fingers in your hair and pulls you into a fierce kiss. 

“I’ve got to get greasy and sweaty more often,” you say, taking a deep breath when she pushes you back. 

“Fuck yeah you do,” Rachel answers with a grin. She slides her hands along your chest and bites her lip. “God, why am I so attracted to you right now.” Looking around the empty garage, she fists your shirt in her hands and pulls you back in, directing your lips to her neck. You comply, biting into soft skin and sucking hard, the way you know drives her crazy. It’ll leave a mark, it always does, something you find incredibly hot. 

Rachel whimpers, her knees buckling as she holds you closer. “Fuck you, Chloe Price,” she gasps as you leave sharp kisses along the column of her neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

“My hands are little dirty for that,” you mumble against her ear, scraping your teeth along its edge. 

“Come to dinner tonight,” she says, biting back a whine when you suck her earlobe between your lips. 

“What?” You’re a little distracted and totally unsure where that question came from. 

“My dad is having a bunch of boring old white dudes over for dinner tonight,” she continues, “he told me I have to be there.” 

“Sounds like he was just talking about you,” you say, leaning back and lifting her chin so her lips angle against yours. 

“Well, now I’m telling you that _you_ have to be there, too,” she says, gripping your chin and holding you back. She narrows her eyes and sets her face, challenging you to contradict her. 

“Rachel,” you sigh, “come on. I’m the last person you want at that party.” 

Rachel shakes her head and cups your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Babe, you are the first person I want at every party.” She pulls you into a deep kiss, and you can feel any bit of resolve you had totally dissipate at the feeling of her lips on yours. 

“God, fine,” you say, trying to keep the lovestruck smile off your face, “I’ll come to the stupid dinner. But I’m _not_ dressing up.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Rachel says. “Finish up here and we’ll get going, we need to see if you own a pair of jeans that aren’t ripped or stained.” 

You drop your head to her shoulder and groan. Rachel laughs and hugs you close, kissing the side of your head placatingly. 

“You suck, Rachel Amber,” you grumble. 

“Love you too, drama queen,” she laughs. 

-

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, sipping the punch that Rose had served you. Rachel is at your side in a modestly hot blue dress, a style she rarely wears and gives you at least one good reason to be here. She’d loaned you a black button up that’s a little short in the sleeves, and she’d laughed at you as you carefully rolled the sleeves to rest evenly just above you elbows. 

Rachel is leading you around the house, schmoozing with her father’s coworkers like it’s her damn day job. 

“Have you ever been to the Valley, dear?” A lady with a pearl necklace and a hawk-like nose addresses you, and you look to Rachel for help. 

“Um, what valley is that?” You ask, and Rachel hides a smirk behind her glass. 

“Silicon, dear,” the lady says with a belittling smile. 

“Oh, right,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck, “no I haven’t been. But it sounds uh, really cool.” You thought Silicon Valley was more of an idea than an actual Valley, but this lady seems pretty convinced that it’s a location. 

“Chloe hasn’t been able to travel much, Mrs. Crawford,” Rachel says, voice silky smooth and sweet as honey. “She’s been very busy with working and building up a good business reputation.” She strokes your arm and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Sure, technically you were somewhat of an entrepreneur, but you didn’t think Mrs. Crawford would take too kindly to hearing about how you sold five points of coke to Taylor Christensen for ten dollars over price last month. 

“Is that so? What business are you in?” Mrs Crawford sips from the crystal glass she’s holding, and you really wish Rachel wasn’t so fond of making your life difficult. 

“It’s sort of, uh, supply and demand,” you say, “people ask me for stuff and I…supply it.” Rachel’s hand rests at the small of your back, and you look over at her and her infuriating smirk. She’s enjoying this too much. 

“Do you do your own books?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you say.

“Chloe is actually very good with numbers,” Rachel says. “She does all her own books. They’re very well-kept.” 

You disguise a laugh as a cough. Your ‘books’ are a bunch of crumpled papers in a shoebox, usually illegible and stained. Rachel rubs your back, keeping her straight face perfectly. 

“Well, best of luck to you, dear,” Mrs. Crawford says, walking away and leaving the two of you relatively alone in the dining room. 

You shove Rachel’s shoulder. “You are the worst.” Rachel laughs and pulls you in for a small kiss. 

“It’s too easy to fluster you,” Rachel says with a smile, smoothing down the collar of your shirt. “Plus you look unfairly good in this shirt, I have to get my revenge somehow.” The heels she’s wearing lift her almost to an even height with you, and she barely has to lean up in order to kiss you again. 

“Like you don’t know how hot you are in that dress,” you counter. She just winks and walks away, swaying her hips. “Such an ass,” you mumble to yourself, unsure if you’re talking about the girl or her actual ass. 

“Chloe.” You startle, turning to see James Amber waiting to talk with you. 

“Hey, Mr. Amber,” you say, “great party.” 

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll admit, I was a little surprised when Rachel told me you were coming. This doesn’t seem like your type of ‘scene’.” 

It’s a little degrading, but it’s been over a year of dealing with James Amber’s bullshit, and you’re not scared of him. “Well, I’m definitely making less money here than I would at most other events, but the canapés are just _delightful_.” You grab a little puff pastry off the table and take a dramatic bite. 

“I hope you’re behaving around the guests,” he says, and you really want to punch him. 

“I don’t think you’re one to give lectures about good behaviour,” you say, lowering your voice and fixing him with a meaningful stare. He looks at you for a second longer, and he opens his mouth to say something. Luckily, he’s cut off by the return of Rachel, her glass refilled. 

“Hi, daddy,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. 

“Hello, darling,” he says, “enjoying yourself?” 

Rachel nods and stands beside you. “It’s one of the best parties you’ve thrown.” They start talking about past parties, and you tune out. Your fingers twitch for a smoke or an actual drink, and you eye the bottles of fancy alcohol on the cabinet. 

“I’ll be right back,” you mumble into Rachel’s ear, brushing your hand against hers as you pass by. She nods and you feel her watch you go. 

You step out the back door and quickly light up a cigarette, sucking back smoke like your life depends on it. That whole house is stifling, suffocating you with it’s fabricated air of perfection. The moon is bright above your head, and you stare at it, watching the smoke hover in front of it’s light before dissolving into the air. It’s late October, and you really wish you’d brought a jacket out here to protect against the breeze. 

You smoke two more cigarettes, until your hands are steady and your heart is calm. What you’re really aching for is weed, something to just numb your mind to everything inside, but you have a feeling that blazing at Rachel’s dad’s fancy house party would be the straw to break James Amber’s tolerance of you. And the canapés really are good. 

Rachel’s waiting for you in the mudroom. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “just needed a smoke.” Rachel hums and hands you a glass. 

“Gin and tonic,” she tells you. You thank her with a kiss to her temple and down the drink. “Are you sure you’re alright? Did my dad say anything to you?” 

“I’m fine, really,” you insist. “I’m just not used to going that long without some sort of fix.” You put the glass down on the washing machine and pull Rachel into a hug. She returns it, of course, and you hold her close. Her hair smells like product, chemical and sweet, and you want to lose yourself in her arms. 

“You’d tell me if you needed anything, right?” Her voice comes quiet beside your ear, and you nod silently, just holding her closer. She must understand, tightening her arms around you and kissing the shell of your ear. 

“I love you,” you mumble. 

“I love you too,” she mumbles back, and you know she’s confused about this moment, about why you suddenly need her like this, but she just accepts it and carries it. Effortless give and take. 

You stand there for seconds or hours, but you’re only interrupted by Rose popping her head in and informing you that dinner is soon to be served. She smiles kindly at the both of you, and Rachel drops her arms from around you, taking your hand and pulling you back into the heart of the party. 

“Mom, can we take this up to my room?” She asks. “I’m not feeling well.” 

“Of course, honey,” Rose says, and she helps the two of you load up your plates, sending you upstairs with a smile. 

Rachel locks her door behind her and puts the food on her desk. You flop onto her bed and close your eyes. You feel her lie down beside you, pressing her nose into your neck. 

“Do you want to cuddle?” She asks, and you crack an eye open to look at her. She’s turned on the starry flashlight you made for her all that time ago, and it bathes her in an unearthly light, like a spirit from some other plane. 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” you say, awestruck. Rachel smiles and reaches up to stroke your face. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she mumbles, and you smile. 

“Sorry I suck at parties,” you sigh, tucking your arm underneath her head and dancing your fingers along her upper arm. 

“Please, that was barely a party,” Rachel says. “I was getting sick of it, too. I hate it when my dad parades me around like some sort of golden trophy daughter.” You hum an agreement. “I’m just so tired of all of that, y’know? I wish they’d stop pushing me to be so perfect.” 

“You need a little rebellion,” you say, and you turn to lie on your side. 

“I need a big rebellion,” she says. “I’m bored, Chloe. School, and the whole DA’s daughter act…it’s so fucking boring.” 

Something twinges in your chest at that. If Rachel can be bored with those things, who’s to say she isn’t bored of you? 

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Rachel teases, and you roll your eyes. 

“I’m serious,” you try again, and she frowns. 

“Go ahead.” 

You sigh and sit up, pulling away from her and shuffling to lean against her headboard. Your throat is tight, but you push past it. “Steph said she saw you and Nathan Prescott hanging out behind the dorms.” Something flickers across Rachel’s face, but then it’s gone as quick as it came, and she sits up to look at you. 

“Nathan’s my friend,” she says, “we were planning the next Vortex party without having to worry about some loser hearing about it and begging to be invited.” 

When you and Rachel argue, she pulls out a persona to use as a defence. Sometimes it’s ‘hurt by daddy’s lies’, or ‘tougher than you’, or even ‘PMS-ing and hungry’. Today it’s the popular girl personality, shoving others down to raise herself above any human error. 

“Okay,” you say, “I just wanted to ask.” 

“Don’t you trust me?” She narrows her eyes and you nod. 

“Of course I trust you,” you say, and it doesn’t feel like a lie, but it still sits heavy on your tongue. “I’m only asking because-because if you’re bored of everything, do I count as something?” 

Rachel’s eyes soften and she crawls up the bed to straddle your thighs, holding your face in your hands. “Chloe Price,” she says, forcing you to make eye contact, “you will never be boring to me. Okay?” 

You nod and let her kiss you. Something still feels off, and you know she’s hiding something. It’s not unusual for Rachel to hide things, but she always tells you eventually. 

“So there’s nothing going on with Nathan that I need to know about?” 

She shakes her head and kisses the bridge of your nose. “Nothing, baby. I swear.” She kisses your forehead. “I love you.” She kisses your cheeks, left and then right. “You are my guardian angel.” She kisses your chin. “Nothing is going to take me away from you.” She kisses your lips, and you rest your hands on her hips. “I’m yours, Chloe. Always.” 

You think she means it, or maybe you just need her to mean it, so you nod and kiss her with renewed fever. She kisses you like you’re something long-needed, her hands on your neck and her lips leading yours in a familiar dance of desire and love. You melt into it like always.

Later, when you’re wrapped around her in the dead of the night, her breathing even and steady, her phone buzzes frantically. You grab it to turn it off, but the name on the screen catches your eye and dropkicks your heart. Checking to make sure Rachel’s still asleep, you open her phone, staring at the unopened messages from Nathan Prescott. Your thumb hovers over the enter button, but then you shake your head and turn the phone off and turn back over, pulling Rachel into your arms. 

She’s here with you, not with him. And she always will be. 

You kiss the back of her head and shut your eyes, waiting for sleep to come. 

It doesn’t. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all your support on this series :) your kudos and comments feed my inspiration and speed me up, so keep 'em coming. I'm really starting to try and explore the way Rachel's character was falling apart (and by association, their relationship), and I'm hoping soon I'll be able to understand her a little better.


End file.
